I flipped him off. “I think I can handle it. You go rest. Let’s get some rounds in tomorrow morning, ten o’clock or so. I think I have to be in makeup around noon.”

  He snickered, an odd sound coming from such a big man, then sealed his lips shut. “Get your beauty sleep.”

  I ignored him, shrugging out of my jacket, hanging it to air out in the closet. Within a few minutes, I was in gym gear and heading down the hall. Glad the gym was in the back of the house, and not in the guest wing, I didn’t worry too much about bumping into anyone. If I did, I’d keep it short and sweet. The director asked that I not connect with the contestants if at all possible. He wanted our initial responses to each other to be captured on camera instead.

  Whatever.

  I’d agreed to do this stupid thing, and even though I regretted the decision with every fiber of my being, I’d follow the rules and help make the show a success as best as I could. Surely I couldn’t fuck it up too bad. I could be charming when needed. I didn’t eat with my fingers, normally. And I usually had good insights into people, which should help me weed out the wimpy-whiney-bitchy women early in the shooting.

  Pushing into the gym, I cursed as I heard a machine going and the pounding of shoes on the treadmill. Who the hell besides me would be working out at this late hour?

  Pissed that my plans were being changed, I stepped farther into the room and caught a glimpse of skintight black athletic shorts paired with a bright pink tank. The long rope of a dark brown braid swayed from side to side as the woman ran at an impressive speed. Her ass was sweet, well-rounded for such a tiny figure as she fought the incline she’d set for herself.

  She couldn’t be much over five feet tall, if that, but she was strong and fast. She surprised the shit out of me when she jumped off the moving treadmill and hit the floor, doing a set of Hindu pushups before bounding to her feet. Sweat glistened off her olive skin as she did a round of punches and side-kicks before timing her launch back onto the speeding treadmill. Her feet pounded, the muscles popping in her calves and that fantastic ass as she pushed herself even harder.

  It was mesmerizing. Not just her body, but the intensity in which she moved. Knowing I should leave, but unable to do anything more than take another step inside the gym, I craned my neck to look past the column separating me from her. I needed to see her face. Needed it in a way that made no sense.

  As I eased around the column, I could see her better in the mirror. Her sweat-streaked face was a mask of concentration as she fought to keep up with the speed in which she had set the machine. No, it wasn’t just sweat. There were tears on her cheeks as well.

  She wasn’t crying, not in the way females normally cried, but the tears streamed down in rivers as she reached out to the machine’s controls, increasing the speed and incline a bit more, almost like she was punishing herself. My cock jumped at the thought. I could help her with that.

  I usually ran from tears, or if I didn’t, it was because I was paralyzed by them, unsure what to do. They either pissed me off or left me cold, feeling manipulated.

  This was different.

  She thought she was alone, and whatever emotion she was feeling should have been private, without my prying eyes bearing witness.

  If I was a good man, I’d have walked away. But I wasn’t a good man. And I needed to know…

  What was she running from?

  In spite of myself, I took another step inside, then halted when she hit the stop button and began to slow. As the machine ground to a halt, I could hear her breath coming in ragged pants. She stepped to the floor and stretched, her tiny body arching like a feline as she headed to the indoor lap pool.

  She grabbed a towel, wiping away the worst of the tears and sweat as she toed off her running shoes. She lifted a foot, her balance graceful as she swept one sock off, then changed sides to sweep off the other.

  Whatever had caused her to cry wasn’t going to stop her from whatever goal she’d set for herself. I respected that.

  Respected her.

  So much so that I started backing away, giving her the privacy she already thought she’d attained. I hesitated as she stood at the edge of the narrow pool, looking down into the clear blue water for so long that she looked as if she was seeking some kind of secret. Or truth.

  She bent, her lithe body preparing to dive into the depths when I crashed into a trash can behind me, the metal sounding like a bomb going off inside the quiet room.

  Her head whipped around and she lost her balance, arms pinwheeling as our eyes met. So green. So huge in her surprised face.

  We lost eye contact as she belly flopped into the pool. I winced as the side of her face slapped the water first.

  Shit.

  Since I was already busted, the least I could do was help her out. But before I was halfway across the room, she was pulling herself up the side, water streaming down her scanty workout clothes as she popped up onto the pool’s edge, her long braid circling her neck like a noose.

  “I’m sorry,” she sputtered, her eyes even wider than before as I approached her, “they told me I could use the gym in off hours.”

  There was a soft country lilt to her voice that was very pleasing.

  I grabbed a towel, holding it out to her as she stood. “It’s totally okay. No one was expecting me here tonight, and you can use the gym anytime you wish.”

  Still looking like a frightened deer, she took the towel and began wiping off her face, and I stepped even closer to examine the side that had smacked the water. She licked her lips as I lifted her chin. She looked young, too young, and I wondered at the average age of the contestants they’d chosen for me.

  I’d told them I wanted women in their twenties, but I didn’t tell them why. If they’d pressed, I would have said it was because I didn’t enjoy dating women whose biological clocks were ticking too loud. The truth was that I didn’t relish the pressure women closer to my age presented. They were too smart. Too confident as to who they were as a person. They seemed to see inside me easier. Faster. I could never let my guard down around them. Couldn’t relax and just enjoy the pleasure of being with the opposite sex.

  So I avoided them, enjoying the fresh flesh of youth and inexperience instead.

  Young flesh. Like this woman in front of me. Except her eyes didn’t look young. They looked as if this lovely creature had lived a number of lifetimes and gained knowledge that could destroy me. Or save me.

  “I’m Rhett Hamilton,” I said, stroking a finger down her reddened cheek. “I’m sorry I scared you. I was backing out to give you privacy when I klutzed it up.”

  She smiled, and the gentle upward movement of her lips transformed her face from pretty to absolutely beautiful. She wore no makeup that I could detect, and she didn’t need it. Her skin was clear and smooth, the olive seeming to be her natural hue. Perfect lashes and brows were the exact color of her dark hair, giving her an exotic South American look. And those eyes. Upon closer inspection, I could see they were hazel like mine, not the bright green I first thought. Specks of amber and blue sprinkled around the large pupils, making them look like galaxies orbiting around their own secret universe.

  “Emery,” she murmured, stepping back a couple inches, and I realized my fingers had been touching her face for an awkwardly long time. I dropped my hand. “Emery Rose.”

  “That’s a beautiful name. Is Rose your middle name?” I didn’t even know why I asked the question, but I wanted to ask her everything. Wanted to know everything.

  She shook her head and reached up to unwind her braid from her throat, then squeezed the water from the thick rope of hair. Water trailed down her chest, slipping into the tank top that covered her small breasts, drawing my attention to the hardened nipples that nearly made me groan.

  “It’s my last name.”

  I’d almost forgotten our topic of conversation, so distracted was I by another rivulet of water trailing a path down her neck. “What’s your middle?” Again, the question sprang from me unbidden.

  She swallowed, and a flash of hurt crossed her features before she smiled it away. “Lillian. After my mother.”

  Emery Lillian Rose.

  It was perfect. Delicate yet strong, like the woman before me.

  “Why did you choose to be on the show, Emery Lillian Rose?”

  She laughed — or was it a snort? I wasn’t sure. “I’m not on the show, Mr. Hamilton. I’m a crew member.”

  I was unexpectedly devastated at this bit of news. The entire show had suddenly seemed not so intimidating, knowing someone like Emery was a contestant.

  “Please, call me Rhett.”

  She licked her lips again, and I was drawn to the small flick of her tongue. God, this little bit of a female was sexy as hell. What’s more, she clearly wasn’t trying. “It’s probably best if I stick with being more professional.”

  I didn’t want to be professional. I wanted anything but that.

  I took a step closer, knowing she had no escape but the water behind her if she inched away any farther. “Then call me Rhett… here. Now.”

  We were so close together that her bare toes touched my shoes. Her pupils flared as she looked up at me, her neck extended as she craned her head back, her eyes not leaving mine.

  I needed to touch her again.

  I needed to explore the muscles playing just below her soft skin.

  I needed to kiss her, to see if her lips tasted as delicious as they looked.

  “May I kiss you?”

  The question was a murmur, probably more resembling a prayer, and I was surprised at how desperately I wanted her to say yes.

  She licked her lips, and while she didn’t answer, she didn’t say no, and I needed that to be good enough.

  Leaning down, I moved closer to ask her again and could feel her breath on my face when — splash! I was in the water, the suddenness of her sidestep taking me by surprise, and the elbow to my back just strong enough to knock me off balance.

  I surfaced, turning just in time to see her darting out the door, the braid flying out behind her.

  Laughing in spite of myself, I pushed out of the water. Like the wild animal I was, my first instinct was to give chase, pouncing on her small frame, taking her to the floor and sinking my cock deep inside her warmth, fucking her hard and fast. Or maybe I’d take her back to my den where I could take my time, memorize every inch of her incredible body. Either would work.

  But I would do neither.

  Catching sight of her running shoes still lying next to the pool, I shook off the water still streaming from me and walked over to them, my own running shoes squishing with each step.

  I picked them up. Size six. As tiny as the rest of her.

  Holding them — still warm from her exercises — made me smile.

  I’d find little Emery Lillian Rose again.

  These might not be glass slippers.

  But this wasn’t a fairy tale.

  And I wasn’t a prince.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Emery

  Holy crap.

  As I booked it from the gym, trailing water behind me as I went, “Holy crap, holy crap, holy crap,” became my mantra.

  I couldn’t believe that I’d come face-to-face with Rhett Hamilton, the owner of this freaking enormous house and star of “The Biggest Catch.” I recognized him immediately. Who wouldn’t? I’d seen enough of his preproduction screenshots and media spots to know him anywhere.

  I’d known he was handsome. The kind of tall, dark, and handsome that drew female eyes his way. But in person, it was more than that. Tall, yes. Well over a foot taller than my five-one frame. Dark, yes. Skin that seemed kissed by the sun was highlighted by a dark head of hair and thick goatee that looked soft enough to snuggle in.

  Maybe it was his eyes. They were much like mine, green with flecks of gold and blue, but with a small ring of dark scarlet surrounding the pupil, almost like Satan himself dwelled within. It was like he possessed some powerful magnet that pulled me in his direction. Or maybe he’d possessed me. I’d been unable to move for a long moment as his face approached mine, before I’d regained my senses and… holy crap… knocked him into the pool.

  I was so going to be fired.

  When I burst out into the cold night air, I realized I’d left my shoes behind. Dang it. I didn’t stop. I didn’t care if my toes froze off or my hair became one long icicle. No way in hell was I going back for them.

  When I made it to the shelter of some trees, I stopped and looked back, to see if I was being followed. I wasn’t. And I wasn’t sure if I was disappointed or relieved.

  Good grief. I was like that princess in one of my favorite childhood movies, Tangled. First, it was one of my favorites because it was one of the few Disney productions where the mother was still alive in the end. Take that, Walt!

  Second, I loved the part when Rapunzel finally got brave enough to touch that grass for the first time. She ran and danced, screaming, “I can’t believe I did this.” Then grew scared and repeated the same thing, “I can’t believe I did this,” overwhelmed by the great big world.

  That was me.

  Weee… I can’t believe Rhett Hamilton almost kissed me, the giddy side of my mind cried.

  Grrr… I can’t believe Rhett Hamilton almost kissed me, the bitchy side snarled in return.

  Then there was another side, something deeper and more primal and raw that was unfamiliar. That side wanted him to kiss me. Wanted him to do more than that. Wanted to feel the fingers that had stroked my face move lower, and lower. Lower still.

  I shook my head. Like Rapunzel, I couldn’t help but wonder if I was a despicable person.

  Or if he was.

  We were total strangers, and he had no right to come on to me like that. He was much bigger, and we were secluded, and in some weird way, I worked for him. Kind of. Besides, I’d been in a vulnerable position, surprised by his presence, embarrassed for having belly flopped in such a humiliating way.

  I’d been cold. Soaking wet.

  Oh no.

  I looked down. And had my nipples looked like darts poking out of a dart board when I’d been with him?

  Of course they had. His eyes had scanned my body several times, but to give him credit, always seemed to focus on my face.

  My stomach churned at the memory, and I groaned.

  How was I supposed to face him tomorrow? If I wasn’t booted off the property by then.

  The job I needed so desperately was now in the hands of the handsome devil himself.

  Literally.

  Feeling defeated, I made my way more slowly to my temporary home on the other side of the trees, the glow of the huge structure leading the way.

  I was walking toward a freaking guesthouse. A four-thousand-square-foot, five-bedroom home for when the occasional guest dropped by. How stupidly over the top was that? But it was gorgeous. Each bedroom featured its own bathroom that was bigger than the living room I’d grown up in, sans trash.

  Opening the door as quietly as I could, I tiptoed up the grand staircase and down the long hallway to the room I shared with the makeup artist’s assistant, Juliette. Luckily, she was incredibly nice and had a neat streak almost as OCD as mine. Slowly turning the knob, I snuck in, but shouldn’t have bothered. Also like me, she was a night owl. We were roomies made in heaven.

  Juliette glanced up from the magazine she was reading, a palette of bronzers beside her. I groaned as her eyes grew wide. I’d seen that look before. “I’m so glad you’re here. Can I try this new blending technique on you? Please, please, please.”

  I didn’t know why she bothered to beg. Not once since I’d been introduced to this blonde fireball had I been able to tell her no. “Sure. Let me get showered off and changed first.”

  Her nose wrinkled. “Why are you so wet anyway?”

  “Because I also forgot my bag of dry clothes,” I mumbled under my breath.

  I grabbed my pajamas and robe, heading to the bathroom to rinse off the sweat and saltwater from the pool, hoping she’d forget the question by the time I returned.

  Of course she didn’t.

  “Sit,” she ordered, and I plopped down, lifting my face for her inspection. She pushed the turban of the towel on my head back so she could see every inch. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

  I’d barely known this curvy blonde for two weeks, but it felt like I’d known her forever already. She was the combination sister slash best friend I always wanted, instead of the hateful, bitchy one Mother Nature thought it’d be funny to grant me.

  Two years older than me, Juliette had moved to New York three years ago, working in a high-dollar salon on 5th Avenue. To make ends meet, she also did makeup for plays and weddings. Basically any gig she could land.

  Like me, she’d been thrilled to get this job, hoping it would be her foot in the door for similar experiences. And she was talented. She’d turned me into some unrecognizable glamour queen a number of times in the short while I’d known her.

  Unlike me, she’d already met all of the contestants, having been forced to spend the past week “getting familiar with their bone structure and coloring.” From her feedback, several of them were nice, but an equal number were pills. “They probably got some slightly unstable drama queens for higher ratings,” she’d told me.

  I didn’t disagree.

  While Juliette had spent time selecting the right makeup palettes for the women’s wardrobes, I’d spent the past week moving furniture, pouring coffee, and standing still for hours while the lighting electricians used me to get things set up correctly. I couldn’t complain. Sure, standing in one place got boring, but I’d been able to listen to an Audible book while I did it. My latest book was It, from Stephen King. Ryan and I had read the novel to each other several times in high school, and it was fun to listen to the excellent narrator give the book a new spin. Plus, it was over forty hours long, so I was getting my money’s worth.

  “I bumped into Rhett Hamilton,” I confessed to Juliette when she simply stood there, a perfectly waxed eyebrow lifted high on her forehead, waiting for me to talk.